Second Chances
by iNsAnlTY
Summary: Romano has noticed as of late he hasn't exactly been the best big brother in the world, as he and Italy have been getting into a lot of fights lately. Guilt striken, Romano is torn between trying to make ammends with this little brother, or letting them fall farther and farther into the cycle of hate. ((Is currently under construction of being rewritten, as I hate it.))
1. Chapter 1

America had just finished taking role of all present countries that had attended the world conference with ease. Everyone was there for the most part, all except for Romano, Italy, and Prussia, who was off flaunting his bragging rights where no one wanted to hear. Canada appeared to be missing as well, if only the others noticed that Russia had decided to sit on him- again. Sadly the poor country was seemingly invisible in the eyes of his fellow nations, and he had no such luck as he was still being crushed.

It just so happened that at the same time, Britain had jumped up from his chair and whacked France with the stack of papers clenched tightly in his fist.

France had also jumped up, glaring at Britain and rubbing his now slightly red cheek, "How dare you hit me with such cheap parchment!"

"You bloody frog! You don't know what you're talking about!" England hissed back icily.

His arm was raised ready to swat France with the papers again.

America laughed, "Whoa guys chill. It hasn't even been five minutes and you're already trying to bite each other's heads off," that made him laugh even more. He was obviously amused with the whole situation.

England and France looked at America for a good ten heart beats. Then they were at each arguing again as England proceeded to slap France repeatedly with his papers.

The other countries sat in awkward silence watching. It seemed they were all debating on actually stopping the two idiots, but no one dared make a move to try….. Until.

"Will you both SHUT UP!" Germany's enraged voice range across the room. He had slammed his fists down on the table and there had been a rather loud rap of the violent contact.  
He was glaring at the two countries sitting on the other side of the table.

France had his hands on England's throat and England was preparing the papers for what felt like the hundredth time in the past two-n-a-half minutes. They looked at the seething country, then each other, then around the room at the other countries.

"…. He's right," France said after a moment. He released the country in his grasp and sat down, hoping to maintain any of the pride he had left.

England followed suit.

America let out a loud whistle, "Hey thanks man!" he said happily to Germany, "I thought they were gonna declare war any second."

Germany gave a curt nod, not really acknowledging what America said.

There was another awkward pause and America wasn't really sure how to react. So he just began, "So are there any problems we need to figure out? New or old stuff, but we have a LOT of old stuff to worry about,"

"Um…. Actually there is one thing I'd like to ask."

The voice was etched with concern, which caused America, as well as a couple other countries, to look up to the voice.

Spain was standing up. Though he appeared normal, his eyes were filled with worry and he looked…. rather unsettled. He was shifting weight back and forth from his feet and there were a few slight tremors on his body.

Giving a perplexed expression Japan decided to speak up, "Well, what seems to be bothering you? I hope it's something that we can work out."

Spain looked at Japan. Then his eyes fluttered to Germany before returning to Japan once more, "You're both good friends of my little Veneziano, right?"

Japan seemed taken aback by the sudden question, but nodded after regaining his bearings," Yes I would consider us to be friends of Italy." He looked to Germany, who nodded in agreement.

"Well, I saw Veneziano and Romano come in the building before me, but they aren't here now… It's not like them to miss a meeting and not tell anyone and if I saw them in here wouldn't it make sense for them to be here as well. I know this isn't the kind of problems we're supposed to talk about but I'm rather anxious to find where they've gone."

"Huh," America thought, "So we've got a case of a missing country. Sound's exciting! We should go on a country hunting adventure!"

The thought was buried as soon as the words left his lips. At the exact same moment the doors had slammed open and a very pissed off looking Romano stormed in. His eyes were practically deadly as he turned his burning gaze on the countries occupying the conference room.

Spain jumped up in glee, forgetting Italy as he smiled to his own Italian obviously unaffected by the gaze, "Oh my little Roma-"

"NOT NOW!" Romano yelled angrily at Spain. The country gave a smile and sat down. Until Romano turned his head towards the country that sat at the end of the table and screamed, "You damn potato bastard what have you done with Veneziano!"

"WHAT!?"

Spain looked shocked, "Romano!"

Romano clenched his shaking hands into fists, "I know you took him! Where have you hidden my little idiot brother and what do you plan on doing with him! Tell me dammit!"

Germany shook his head, "I haven't seen Italy since yesterday afternoon during training. He ran off somewhere and I couldn't find him."

"Didn't you come in with your brother," Spain asked questioningly.

Bad idea. Romano turned his deathly gaze on Spain, " Yes, but as soon as we came in he saw this potato loving bastard and said he was going to go say hi real fast. But after he ran off after he just disappeared and I can't find that idiot ANYWHERE!"

Everyone in the room could hear his frustration and a silence fell over the room. Italy was well known for being lazy, as well as wandering off on his own was something he did on a regular basis. Germany could vouch for that. But, if he had arrived to a world conference and then not shown up; something was definitely wrong in that sense. Italy wouldn't waste his time coming to a world conference just to avoid it.

Russia cleared his throat, "Excuse me but, at what time did you arrive here."

Simple question, "Since world conferences start at noon we got here around eight-thirty.

Italy saw Germany and Japan and ran off with them."

Japan stared at Romano, "But we didn't arrive until nine…."  
The words seemed to come out slow, processing at a snail's pace in both Romano and Spain's minds. They were staring at Japan like he had decided to speak fluent Japanese or in tongues. They had arrived after Italy had taken off? Was it even possible for something like that to happen? It sounded ridiculous- was ridiculous. Italy wouldn't lie about seeing Japan and Germany, he loved them like they were his second family.

_Veneziano wouldn't lie to me about something like that. He wouldn't make up any lie involving that damn Nazi…. Where the hell did you go then!?_

"Romano?"

He spun on his heals to see Spain was now standing by his side. There was this comforting look in his eyes. But he didn't want comfort: he wanted his little brother back. Though he'd never admit it to anyone standing in the room before him. He looked up at Spain.

"I'm going to go find my idiot brother."

"Would you like some help?" Spain suggested.

Scoff, "As long as it's not that damn Nazi."

With an apologetic smile to Germany, Spain ruffled the top of Romano's head. He laughed as he was scolded by the elder, more easily flustered, Italian brother.

"This isn't funny you stupid bastard!" the Italian yelled angrily. When would Spain take anything serious for once in his damn life?

"Roma, little Veneziano is probably wandering around lost somewhere looking for pasta. You know how he easily gets lost and forgets things. Plus if something did happen, wouldn't it be safer to search together?"

"He came here with us, stupido! How could he have gotten lost when he entered the fucking building!? And I don't need your damn help!"

Spain opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking at Romano with a hurtful expression. Romano rolled his eyes, turning away from the Spaniard and turned back to the door. These were the countries who couldn't even settle on any form of issue when they came to these stupid meetings! What help could they possibly be when the only thing they could ever do was fight?

He had to find his little brother… Not that he actually cared about him! Romano just needed to make sure he wasn't ruining something or getting in trouble that would cause another unfortunately annoying scolding from that dumb boss of theirs.

"Romano, are you going somewhere?" Spain asked curiously.

A sigh, "My brother has gone missing and not a damn person in here knows where he went, WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M GOING!?"

"No haga nada estúpido, Romano..." Spain said softly, in an almost coaxing manner.

Romano turned halfway on his heels, hazel eyes boring into the Spaniard, "¿Por qué no te callas la puta vez España? No es como darle un maldito ni nada! Cállate carajo y me deja ir a buscar a mi hermano sin su voz molesta!"

"Mira tu idioma! Sólo me preocupa sobre usted!" Spain said back, a hurt expression crossing his normally bright and peppy face.

The other nations (not being fluent in Spanish what-so-ever) just stared back and forth between the two, not really sure how to react with the current situation that was playing out before them. It was obvious that the two were arguing about something- obviously- but they couldn't grasp what was actually being said. One thing for sure was that neither of them had mentioned the missing Italy, who had been the original topic of discussion.

"Roma, please just settle down and think about this! Before you end up getting yourself hurt!"

Romano gave a snort, "Fuck you too." He abruptly turned on his heels- again- and stormed through the conference room doors to the empty hallway, leaving behind a rather upset looking Spain and many very confused nations.

He balled his hands into fists, feeling them tremble with fury and frustration at his side, "He's probably locked in that fucking Potato bastard's basement where he's planning on doing some weird creepy shit to my little brother."

A scoff.

On most occasions, Romano wouldn't give a damn about where his brother was or what he was doing (unless it involved Germany or one of the other nations he despised with a burning passion, i.e. France), but he had this… compelling urge to go and search for his brother. He wasn't sure why or even where the feeling itself manifested from, but it was there and it wanted him to find Veneziano…

"I don't give a shit about him... I just need to find him! Only because he's being stupid..." he mumbled to himself in some lame form of convincing himself that it was true.

Whether it worked or not, he was unsure…

Shaking his head of the thought, he quickly stormed down the hall to the exit. The extravagant walls and decorations of France's interior only seemed to make his head throb in irritation (probably because he recognized some of the art that France had, ahem "borrowed forcefully" from the Italy brothers back when they were small and oh so very weak) and quickened his pace, hell bent on getting out of that building as soon as he possibly could. Why did the conference have to be at that pervert's house anyway? Who knows what kind of sick things he could have planned for them!

"Stupid fucking pervert and his fucking-"

"ROMANO!"

The loud call made the Italian tense up. Turning, he saw a frightened looking Spain sprinting toward him... wait, SPAIN!?

"Romano please don't leave por favor!" the Spaniard screamed.

And poor Romano was left with two options: stand there like an idiot and wait for the man to catch him, or run as fast as he could and get out of there as soon as he possible could.

Let's pick the latter choice. He darted for the door, running so fast anyone could've sworn they saw a trail of dust trailing him. But Spain was fast too, nowhere near as fast as Romano or his brother could run, but still just fast enough.

"CHIGI! GO AWAY YOU BASTARD!"

"NOT UNLESS YOU COME BACK TO THE MEETING ROMA!"

Romano swore loudly at that comment. Sometimes Spain was just too damn clingy, in an extremely stalkerish manner too! But he was still on the third floor, and the stairs were way too far for him to reach without having to worry about a certain someone who would gladly leap from them to tackle him to the floor!

_Gotta be another way down, there has to be a quicker way in this fucking place!_

Situations like this always seemed to find their way into his life, making it a living hell for himself and, well, anyone who knew him.

And luck was just as bad.

Ahead of him, he was aware of a very large mosaic decoration wall. It was blessed with a wild assortment of colors and images that depicted, well, France (that narcissist) looking elegant and graceful. Romano silently gagged.

"Romano stop running so fast!" the other's voice could be heard from behind. It appeared to be louder: Spain was getting closer.

_SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!_

Did he have anywhere to go? No. FUCK! What was he supposed to do with a goddamned Spanish man chasing him down like a dog!? There wasn't an exit anywhere in sight, so was he just some sitting duck-

"ROMA LOOK OUT!"

The voice was alarmed, but came far too late. Before he could even register what had actually happened, Romano found himself surrounded by shards of colored glass, and the dim realization that he was freefalling from the third floor to the ground below.

…Well shit…


	2. Chapter 2

**EEEK! I'm so so sorry, I had this on my laptop for days with writers block and I just kept staring at the keyboard waiting for my fingers to type something ;n; Anyway After a week+ of slaving over this and forcing myself to finish it, I finally have the second chapter! *mentally crying because now she has to work nonstop on ch.3***

* * *

A rose bush…

Romano had taken a three-story fall just to end up landing in a fucking rose bush of all things. Swearing angrily, Romano pulled himself from the spikey foliage, making small rips and tears in his nice suit. Not that it mattered- he'd gotten it from the stupid tomato bastard…

Speaking of which, Romano looked up, holding his arm above his face to shield his eyes from the blinding noon sun.

"Roma, Roma! Are you alright my little bambino!" Spain's frantic voice rang out, alarmed and worried.

Romano could see the small form of the nation peering through the broken glass down at him, but he couldn't make out his voice or anything else. God knows what could be going through that Spaniard's mind at that moment. Maybe he would jump out after him…

And take the same risk of falling into a rose bush.

Romano gritted his teeth and glared at the thing, almost as if his gaze would light it in a pretty orange flame.

It really was a long- fucking ridiculous- fall for him. But to be saved by that damn bush was aggravating. Especially since on the downside, it had also hurt him in the process. Not enough to cripple him, but just to the point where he was infuriated by the damn thing.

"Romano!"

Spain's frantic voice alerted him to the fact that he was still standing up there, peering down at him from three stories high.

Three.

Fucking.

Stories.

"I'm going to need a siesta when this shit is done," he grumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

He looked back up at Spain, "I'm fine you jerk!" he called back, "The fucking plant broke my fall!" he gestured to the rose bush. It looked perfectly fine and untouched.

"Just wait there Roma! I'll be down there as soon as I can!"

His eyes widened slightly at that, "No you bastard don't come do-"

Spain was already gone.

Another curse word escaped his lips. How long did he have until the other made it to him and probably dragged him back inside like some sort of rag doll? He knew his minutes were dwindling- fast.

He's probably sprinting all the way down here just to get me… fuck.

He needed to move, and he needed to do it as quickly as possible. He looked around. Guessing from the large abundance of exotic-looking plants surrounding him, Romano assumed he was in the pervert's garden. Then again, maybe everything around his house was just over exaggerated and flashy beyond repair.

Rolling his eyes, he began to wander through the colorful world of flowers, keeping close to the wall so he wouldn't get lost (aka simply drown in another rose bush somewhere along the way) trying to find the entrance. Come to think of it, was that window on the side or the back of France's house?

He stopped.

"….. Shit…"

So he started counting off his list of many misfortunes.

One, his idiotic little brother seemed to have gone missing in less than, well, two hours. Two, he had taken a five story drop and landed in a damned rose bush in a perverts –possible- back yard. Three, he had no idea where the hell the front of the house stood, and it was so damn large it looked like it would take a long time just to walk around the fucking building.

Great.

Fucking great.

Could his life get any worse than it already was in its downward spiral to the bottomless pits of Hell? Technically: yes. And if he didn't start paying attention to his surroundings soon he was going to find himself in a world of-

A tree had appeared out of nowhere and the unfortunate Italian had the pleasure of crashing into it.

"! Fucking French bastard!" he yelled angrily, aiming to kick the tree in a fit. Common sense told him otherwise, seeing as he had enough experience to know kicking a tree would only cause him even more pain.

Too bad he didn't listen to common sense, and kicked it anyway. He only cursed louder when he felt the explosion of pain send spasms' through his foot. It was official: the universe hated Romano and was on a mission to make his life as miserable as it possibly could before the day was actually over. The day…

Fuck, Veneziano was still missing somewhere.

_That fucking Spain is going to make this the hardest fucking job in the damn world._

He sighed in annoyance, and then kept moving.

* * *

Getting to the entrance of the building was a surprisingly much easier than he'd anticipated. For starters, as it turned out, he had been on the side of France's house (which meant that everything surrounding the house had in fact been a large monster garden thing that he'd been unfortunate enough to deal with). Minus the fact that he'd tripped over a chair entangled in some vines when rounding the corner, he'd gotten there quickly.

"Does he even know that shit is just sitting out there? No, he's too stupid to know anything." Romano grumbled.

He strode across the white steps that led to the front doors, ignoring the security men who stood at attention, till one grabbed his arm. He glared up at the Frenchman, who was a good seven inches taller with curly brown hair.

"Quel est vos affaires ici, monsieur?" the man asked. His green eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

Romano stared at him, "What the hell?" he didn't speak French!

The security's gaze hardened, his fingers locking firmly around the elder Italian's arm, "J'ai dit, quel est vos affaires ici?"

_What the hell is this guy saying to me!?_

There was an awkward silence, one in which Romano was glaring daggers at a very stubborn security man that was speaking in a foreign language he could not understand. Seconds ticked by, very long, drawn out seconds of neither saying a thing.

It looked like the guard was surveying him, until he gave an annoyed sigh, "I said, what is your business here? Can you understand that?" he rolled his eyes.

Romano had to resist the urge to flip him off or curse his name in a fashionably loud manner. "I'm here- or I was here- to represent Italy. But something came up, so I must return to my country immediately before my boss goes insane..." he said as formally as he could through clenched teeth. Formal wasn't really something he was all that good at.

His little brother was the formal kind one, the one who was always answering the serious questions because he wouldn't lose his cool and attack in some blind temperamental rage.

Veneziano.

Where the hell had that pasta loving idiota run off to?

Wait, that's what he was trying to understand wasn't it. He inwardly groaned, smacking himself in the forehead. He heard the French security guard scoff and figured the French bastard was assuming he was some kind of stupid foreigner and mentally noted he would do something bad to that perverted nation when he found his brother. He looked back at the taller, much stiffer man, rolling his eyes and emitting an aura of arrogance (that he wasn't aware of in the slightest).

"So, I'll be going now." Romano said with a steely note, turning and striding at a quickened pace across the entrance to his car without giving the other a moment to reply.

His car was one of the farthest from the building, since Veneziano had suggested (begged) that they park farther from the rest of them. On any normal day, Romano would have complained for at least a good several minutes before giving into his brother's pouting face.

That innocently cute, happy face- Dammit! He didn't care about him at all; it was just because he wanted him to stop looking at him like that…

… With those cute eyes- No dammit, they weren't cute! Annoying and pitiful maybe, but not cute!

Groaning in irritation, the Italian managed to reach his car- with no sign of the frantic Spaniard anywhere. So that was an immense relief for the Italian.

Even if a small part of him was disappointed by that fact.

_Fuck that tomato-eating bastard. I don't need his help and I don't want him helping me in the first place. I can find Veneziano all on my own for fucks sake!_

His car was sitting comfortably by the large, over the top, fancy entrance gates that were embroidered with a giant _"F"._ The metal was a shiny white that glinted magnificently off the sun's light, making the entire entrance seem flashy and expensive in a way that would make any commoner looking hang their head in shame.

Romano couldn't help but roll his eyes at it in annoyance. As nice and grand as they were, the damn pervert was just too much of a fucking show off for anyone's comfort (and their self-esteem if they weren't nearly as eccentric or wealthy for that matter). Without a word, Romano climbed into his car and began digging through his pockets in search of his keys. That went on for about two minutes, and then the Italian fished them out of one of the hidden pockets on the inside of his suit jacket.

He didn't bother to wait as he jammed the key in the ignition, put down the break, stop on the gas, and get the fuck out of there.

* * *

It would be a lie to say Italy was quite confused when he woke up. For starters, wherever he was, it was extremely dark and cold. He was also faintly aware his jacket was missing. The same jacket that held the gift Germany had given him long ago to be precise.

Not good.

That was not good at all.

He whimpered a bit at that, the thought that Germany would get upset if he lost something so precious and sacred.

_He might not want to be my friend anymore..._

The thought scared him. He pulled his hands up to cover his face, only to realize they had been bound (rather tightly) by some thick ropes. Blinking in surprise, Italy struggled, trying to free himself from the ropes that bound his wrists together.

It rubbed against the bare skin roughly and the small nation yelped in pain and surprise. Whoever had tied these ropes had done it super tight. There would definitely be bruises there when he got them loose.

If he could get them loose, anyway. Seeing as he wasn't very powerful, considered the weakest link among the other nations, the chances of he himself loosening the binds was an impossible task to bestow upon the small nation.

Around that moment was when reality struck him: why was he bound in the first place? He'd been at a world conference hadn't he? Yes, he'd seen Germany and Japan when he'd gone in, and he'd left his fratello to go give his two best friends a hug! He could remember that easily enough.

So, why was he bound and thrown in some dark, cold place?

And was he alone?

"Ve~ hello, is anyone else here?" he called out. Silence answered him as he felt the cold creep around the room. He shivered, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

_I don't like it here… I feel like something bad is going to happen the longer I stay. Germany, you're coming to save me, right? Please hurry and save me…_

He prayed like that quietly for some seconds. It was reassuring, at least in his own mind. Germany _would_ go looking for him. He would save him from whoever (or whatever, since Italy had no idea who had actually kidnapped him) had taken him and then scold him for getting kidnapped in the first place. That's what Germany always did for him. He had promised that to the Italian.

_And Germany never goes back on his promises. I've been around him long enough to know that by now. Germany is going to come rescue me and we'll have pasta and I'll run away when he tries to make me train. Just like always!_

Feeling reassured, the small nation settled down (despite his hands still being bound and the chilly air wrapping around him) and waited for his best friend to come save him.

* * *

***gasp* Holy crap I did it! *cheers happily* The end of chapter 2! Probably the only chapter I hate though. Everything after this I love! Woooo, I'll try not to take this long when writing the next chapter! I know how Impatient people can get (I'm one of them xD ) Like and Review! I like feedback. (I'll upload whether I get a like or review though ;3 )**


	3. Chapter 3

After the not-so-difficult escape Romano had made from the World Conference that was being hosted in France, he decided the first place he should head to was Italy. It was one of the only safe places he could imagine his brother heading to, and he was sure if Veneziano _was _there, the first thing he would do was be making pasta in the damn kitchen or taking a siesta (something he honestly wanted to be doing instead of listening to a dozen or so other nations argue like three-year-olds, and actually trying to find his brother).

So off he went.

A note about both his and Veneziano's driving: it was pretty unsafe to drive on any highway if they were around. That was mainly because of their driving skills. Not to say they were bad drivers… unless referred to speed wise anyway (Japan could vouch for that any day). The Italy brothers were quite fond of fast cars.

This is why it was a record timing on the time it actually took him to get home- less than three hours since Romano and Italy both didn't believe in the term "speed limit" when driving around. It didn't make the elder Italian feel any better when he parked in front of his house, though. When crossing the border he hadn't been able to feel the presence of any other nation in Italy, which meant Veneziano hadn't returned home like he'd presumed (and secretly hoped).

Fuck.

That left him with so many options and nowhere to actually start. Double fuck.

"How am I supposed to find that idiota if I don't know where the hell he might've gone!" Romano growled angrily. He slammed his fists against the steering wheel.

Then, he gave a yelp of surprised and jumped when the horn blared at him in response to the assault. He swore at it in frustration. For a while, he just sat in the car, anger seeping from him in dark waves that would probably send chills down the spines of anyone who cast a simple _glance_ in the seething Italian's direction. If he didn't lash out and violently attack them for staring at him in the first place, anyway. Romano was notorious for that too.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was finding the whereabouts of a certain Italy Veneziano and tracking him down to wherever the hell he'd run off too. What he'd do after he found him, well he hadn't looked that far into it just yet.

_It really isn't like that idiot to fucking run off for no damned reason… We weren't even being chased by the tea bastard or that fucking scary-ass Russian bastard._

Giving a half-hearted sigh, Romano unbuckled himself from the seat and left his car, trudging up to the house he and his brother shared. He wasn't surprised to find the door unlocked when he reached the porch. Veneziano never felt the need to lock it because the house was secluded out in the middle of nowhere, no civilization close by for anyone to actually come and check it out. This annoyed Romano greatly. But he shook it off and pushed the wooden door open anyway. He took a step in the house, listening for the sound of other people who might have actually found this place and helped themselves. When he heard nothing, he relaxed slightly- faintly surprised by how tense he'd become in those seconds- and walked into their living room.

Where he froze almost immediately.

"W- what the fuck!?" his alarmed voice rang out.

The couch was flipped, hanging at an odd angle against one of the walls closest to the window. The T.V. had been smashed and smoke was billowing from the gaping hole in the screen. The window itself appeared to be shattered too, stained with a dark red liquid. Their coffee table had been smashed, the legs broken off and sprawled across a small portion of their red carpet.

A carpet that had been white when they'd left that morning. On edge, Romano rushed into the kitchen, looking to see if any more damage had been caused. The kitchen looked even worse. Pots and pans were sprawled across the tiled floors; the water was running in the sink, giving that room an eerie feeling. There was one pot nestled on the stove, the burner running beneath it.

Romano rushed over and turned the crank, watching the blue flame fade as the gas stopped flowing through the burner.

…_. Veneziano didn't leave anything on when we left this morning… Dammit I told him there was always a fucking reason to lock the doors before we left! Why didn't I just do it myself!_

The pot's contents smelled terrible. Whatever the house wreckers had been attempting to cook must have backfired terribly because the scent of it was atrocious and ridiculously unbearable. Romano grabbed the oven mitts and pulled them on, he wasn't sure if the handles would be hot, after all. He clutched the handles of the pot, and then slowly lifted it from the stove.

Why was that pot so fucking _heavy?_

Groaning, he carried the pot- and its mystery contents- over to the sink so he could clean it out. The stench wafted itself through lid of the pot, into the air, and to his nostrils. He almost dropped the entire pot to proceed gagging as the smell made his stomach flip, turn, and convulse all in one fluent motion.

"What the _hell _is in this damn thing!?"

He held the pot a good foot out in front of him, which was hard since it was heavy, trying to ignore the powerful smell that threatened to make him drop the thing and double over and chuck up his breakfast, and whatever else he might've had earlier that day. So _revolting._

It only took him a few more steps to actually reach the counter beside the sink. He put the pot down, hearing a loud clang as its metal exterior connected with the graphite countertop. Had it added more weight since he'd picked it up, or was it just because he didn't want to be holding the damned thing any longer than he needed to? Probably the latter choice; it made more sense in his mind, anyway.

He moved the pot slightly, just so he'd be able to dump its contents down into the sink where they could flow down the drain if it was soup or some other liquid like food. It made a swishing sound.

Stopping, Romano moved the pot again. Another swishing sound. No, swishing wasn't the right word for what he was hearing. To be completely honest, it sounded less like the swish of something purely liquid and more like… something squishy….

Romano's stomach flipped.

_The fuck is this?_

He really didn't want to, but he knew he'd have to look inside that fucking pot to see what it was. Maybe Prussia or that damned Turkey had snuck into his house and put a dead rabbit or something inside the pot to give him the scare. Hopefully it was just a scare.

But would something like that have to smell so foul and disgusting? If it was fucking Turkey, then it most likely did have to, just to psych him out even more. He made a mental note to kick the Turk's ass the next time he saw him too, after he beat the potato bastard to a pulp first (wishful thinking on Romano's part, but you can't blame him for wanting to).

_Dammit, focus!_

Cautiously, he moved his hand and gingerly placed it on the handle of the pot's lid. His stomach continued to churn as nervousness kicked in. He had to find out what the hell it was, and he had to do it now before he chickened out. So Romano quickly snapped the lid off and peered inside.

He regretted it almost immediately.

"Che cazzo!?" he shrieked jumping back quickly, the pot lid flying from his grasp and clashing with the fridge.

The entire pot moved with him, tipping off the side of the counter and its mushy contents spilling all over the floor in a disgusting looking heap.

He crumbled to the floor, scooting as far away from the pot as he possibly could in the medium sized kitchen. His stomach did a flip, then a second one, and the Italian soon found himself clutching his gut as he began to heave. A disturbing mix of pancakes, orange juice, and the coffee he'd had earlier in the day lay in a brownish heap below him soon after. It shuddered beneath him.

This only caused the poor nation to continue into another round of gut wrenching experiences.

Sitting before him was a pile of raw, meaty looking flesh that looked like it hadn't been cooking all that long on the stove before he'd returned home. The meat looked fresh; a reddish brown murky color that looked like it had been tended to with a knife of some sort, with what appeared to be organs- possibly intestines from the looks of it, or maybe some liver- sticking out of it. Blood seeped out all around it, steaming ever so slightly and sticking to the flesh in some parts. It was throbbing ever so slightly and chunks of skin were still hanging on it in various areas. This was obviously _not_ fucking rabbit meat.

_Is that someone's fucking __**heart**__!?_

The smell rose to his nose again, and he slapped a hand over his mouth and he swallowed sharply, trying to keep all the vomit down in his stomach instead of all over the floor. He already knew he had a huge mess to clean up (after he was done being terrified of the meat sitting on his damn floor).

Taking fast, shallow breaths, Romano pulled himself up and backed out of the room slowly. Whoever- or _whatever_- had made that obviously had some sick kick out of leaving people mentally scarred for life… or had they planned on _eating that_?

_Oh my fucking God…_

Common sense would have told him to bolt for the door the second he found himself in the living room. It would have told him to book it the fuck right out of there, jump back into his car, and drive somewhere- preferably the tomato bastard's house- and promptly beg for some help (or maybe just some comfort). Again, it seemed common sense had left the Italian. He moved over to his couch, which was still hanging by the wall, and carefully slipped his hand into the cushion. He pulled out the black revolver he kept hidden there and checked to see if it was loaded.

Of course it was; Romano always had these kind of things prepared.

For now, he'd put that intensely disturbing image at the back of his mind. Hopefully, it would vanish after the mess was cleaned up (no way in _Hell _was he going to enjoy cleaning that shit up) and he would have the Mafia look into that later. It could have very well been one of those fuckers who left it there in the first place just to spook him!

No…

Even if many of the people there did hate him, none of them were trained to do- or stomach- anything this sick.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Romano proceeded to head from the couch to the stairs that led to the second floor of his home. The house was eerily silent, which put him on edge. He tensed as he took a cautious first step on the stairs. Note that they just had to be wooden stairs, and made an audible creek beneath his leather shoes. He swore under his breath. Long seconds ticked by that he made no movement, no sound, not even his breath could be heard in his own ears.

He stood like that for what felt like a millennia, and when he heard no sounds he proceeded to continue up his stairs. Each step made him feel more paranoid, and he had the distinctive feeling that someone was watching him in the house. His own _house _for fucks sake! And the damned floor boards of the stairs and their creaking wasn't making his situation anything other than worse.

Each step only creaked louder, causing him to swear silently far too many times for his own comfort. Being sneaky and creaky wooden floorboards just weren't cutting it for the normally stealthy Italian. The Mafia would be laughing royally at him if they were watching his current situation. The thought of those bastards doing that only made Romano scowl in annoyance.

By the time he'd reached the top of the steps – and gone through a notoriously long list of both Italian and Spanish profanities, slangs, and other inappropriate phrases he'd picked up from other nations, he came to the realization that despite the feeling that he was being watched, Romano felt alone in the house. This, frankly, didn't really make him feel any better.

_Fuck, I'm driving myself crazy here…_

The feeling had planted its seed, and the seeds were already taking root in his senses, feeding his paranoia and making Romano feel more fidgety and uncomfortable than he'd previously been a mere ten seconds ago.

_Focus dammit… I still have to find my idiot brother!_

Romano took a few experimental breaths, his finger floating idly above the trigger he felt so anxious to shoot at someone – or something, if the chance arose. Though he didn't really want to find some psychotic fucker in his house… who would really, those bastards were fucking scary. Still overly cautious- Romano moved down the hall towards the two bedrooms and the bathroom that sat on the second floor. The bathroom door was agape, light streaming through the thin crack out into the hall. He moved silently; if someone _was_ in there, he didn't want them to know he was there. But the closer he got to the door, the more unnerved he felt himself get.

_Someone's in that fucking bathroom. Even if the damned house feels alone, there's someone in there dammit!_

He felt sweat beading down his forehead at that point. Was he nervous? Well of course he fucking was! There was someone in his house, in his bathroom for fucks sake! He had every right to feel nervous about that fact.

Romano found himself a few feet from the door, his steps growing sluggish as he really did not wish to enter the bathroom- who knows what sick thing he'd find awaiting him in the thing!

… Then again, he'd have to clean up whatever was in there anyway…

Giving a heavy sigh, Romano move stood at the door that was still hanging ajar. With his back pressed against the wall opposite, he pushed his leg out, and in a quick, fluent motion, he kicked the door open, ready to take on whoever or whatever was inside.

The door swung open, and his breath caught in his throat.

And any courage he might have been able to muster up vanished at that exact moment as a bloodcurdling scream elated from him.


End file.
